


Stay the Night

by literaryconfectionery



Category: Toshokan Sensou | Library War
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Canon - Manga, F/M, Idiots in Love, Matchmaker Inamine, POV Alternating, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryconfectionery/pseuds/literaryconfectionery
Summary: While Mr. Toma is staying at Advisor Inamine's residence in Hino, Team Dojo takes turns guarding him. While exchanging shifts one evening, Iku sees something suspicious, and Inamine decides that perhaps it's best if all four of Toma's guards stay the night.For security reasons, of course.





	Stay the Night

**Author's Note:**

> You know that trope where for some reason there's only one bed? Yeah I love it.
> 
> Edit: changed rating to T for discussion and implications

It’s outside Advisor Inamine’s home, just as evening is beginning to edge into night, when Iku notices the van. Black, nondescript, utterly plain. The only interesting thing about it is the fact that there are two men sitting in the front who, under the poor lighting of the street lamp, may or may not be staring at her. Iku drops Inamine’s recycling bags on the curb, and then turns stiffly to hurry back inside.

But what started as a need to get out from under the gaze of two strange men slowly starts to morph, as she makes her way woodenly back down the long path to the house. Was the van really so nondescript? What if there was a logo she’d missed in the darkness? Those men, what were they wearing? Suits? A uniform? And why _were_ they watching her, anyway? She’s not normally considered something worth staring at, if she’s honest with herself. Was she the only interesting thing to look at, at the time? Or could it have something to do with Advisor Inamine… or Mr Toma?

She knows she must be cool and calm, and definitely mustn't give in to the urge to sprint back to safety, back to her Instructor. Luckily, she has just enough willpower to turn her almost-run into a _definitely-not-panicking_ walk all the way back into the building.

Then, after hastily kicking off her shoes and sprinting down the wooden-floored hallway, she slides to a halt, grabs Instructor Dojo by the upper arms and says, “The MBC!”

It takes Dojo half a second to recover from being seized with all the strength of an alarmed Iku, but he manages to twist his arm and get a hand over her mouth, hopefully before she can continue shrieking and wake Mr Toma and Advisor Inamine, both of whom turned in a short while ago. The sun has long since set, and Iku and Dojo had been preparing to leave, having handed guard duty over to Tezuka and Komaki. Or at least, until Iku had taken the recycling bags out and then run back in ready to raise hell.

Dojo wisely removes his hand swiftly, as soon as he’s fairly certain that she won’t explode. After all, once bitten…

“Keep it down, blockhead! What’s the matter?”

Chastised, Iku recollects herself and hurriedly releases him. After a hurried salute, she briskly reports the presence of a suspicious black van parked at the side of the road a few houses down, with two men sat silently inside it. There’d been enough light for her to tell that they were watching her.

“Are you sure they’re MBC?”

“Well… maybe not _certain_ ,” Iku muses. “But whoever they are, they’re not ours, and they definitely seemed to be watching Advisor Inamine’s home.”

“Ok. Well spotted. We’ll alert Tezuka and Komaki—”

“Already alerted,” comes Komaki's voice from a doorway behind them. Tezuka, too, has appeared from the room next door, already in pyjamas.

Dojo rubs his chin. “Were they there when you two came to start your shift?”

“No.” Tezuka doesn’t hesitate. “We would’ve noticed something so suspicious.”

“Good point. If even this blockhead noticed it, then you two definitely would have.” He doesn’t pause to acknowledge Iku’s huff of indignation. “So if they arrived recently they might not know that the other three of us are here, or Mr Toma.”

A thoughtful silence meets his words, until the whirr of Inamine’s wheelchair interrupts it, the advisor’s face clouded with concern behind his glasses.

“So, we’d do best to keep it that way, wouldn’t you all agree?” He says grimly. “Nobody can leave this house tonight.”

“Advisor!” Iku squeaks. “I’m sorry if I woke you!”

Inamine shakes his head good-naturedly. “Don’t fret, I wasn’t in bed yet. Besides, I do like to be made aware if my home is being staked out by the Media Betterment Committee.”

“Do you think…?” Iku swallows. “Do you think the MBC will break in during the night?”

Dojo shakes his head dismissively. “If it _is_ them, there’s only two of them, and at the moment they can’t prove anything suspicious is happening here. They aren’t staging a raid, that’s for certain.”

“Could we call in backup and catch them in the act?”

The instructor’s dark eyes are sharp even in the soft lamplight glow of the hallway. “Not without drawing attention to ourselves, idiot. If we fight them, that means we have something to hide here.”

“We _do_ have something to hide here,” Iku mutters, though she’s paid no attention.

“Alright,” Inamine says, decisively. “You two can stay for the night too, and we will re-evaluate the situation in the morning. Everyone is to stay indoors, away from windows, and keep lights off if you can. Nobody is allowed to use the landline phone. Also, no raised voices,” he adds, with a knowing glance between Iku and Dojo.

“Yes sir,” Team Dojo reply in unison.

“It seems I’m causing you all even more trouble,” comes a grim voice from behind them. Mr Toma is peeking around his door frame sheepishly, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt.

Inamine shakes his head. “This isn’t your fault.”

“We don’t mind, Mr Toma,” Iku says quickly, raising her hands reassuringly. “Really! In fact, I’ll volunteer to take the couch, since there’s only two guest beds—”

“No you won’t, Kasahara,” Dojo snaps. “I’ll be taking the couch.”

“But you’re—I’m not a—I can’t share with any—”

“Do as I say!”

“ _But sir_ –”

Inamine clears his throat loudly, and the glare between the two is broken.

“What did I just say about raised voices?” His gravelly voice is brisk, but his lips betray a hint of a smile. “Actually, nobody will be sleeping in the living room tonight,” he orders. “If anybody _were_ to approach the house, you would be seen in there through the windows or glass doors, which as you can see have no curtains or blinds.”

Iku peeps through the living room doorway at the patio doors, and indeed, there is her reflection on the dark glass, staring back. She steps back automatically.

“Therefore: Sergeant Tezuka and Sergeant Komaki will share one guest bed, and Sergeant Kasahara and Sergeant Dojo the other. Yes, Kasahara, you heard me correctly.”

Iku feels her cheeks heat uncomfortably at her mortified gasp. Surely he wasn’t suggesting—

“As soldiers, I expect you both to understand that necessity sometimes trumps our pride or embarrassment. And as adults, I expect you to be able to share a king-size bed for only one night without making too much of a fuss about it. It’s important that you’re both well rested tomorrow, when we may very well have to face MBC spies. Do I make myself clear?”

There is only a moment of hesitation before they chorus, “Yes sir,” Iku and Dojo firmly avoiding each other’s eyes. She knows she’s flushed bright red, and the knowledge does nothing to help.

“Right! Off to bed then, all of you,” Inamine smiles, eyes twinkling.

Once Iku has slinked into the bathroom and the others have left for their prospective beds, Toma disguises a laugh inside a cough.

“I thought you were no longer their superior officer?”

“Oh, I’m not, but old habits die hard, you know? They can’t resist doing whatever I tell them to. And besides, there’s only so much tension one can stand in their living room before something has to be done about it.”

Toma splutters. “Do you—you don’t actually expect them to—to—”

“No, no, of course not,” Inamine chuckles, glasses glittering in the warm light. “Not tonight, at any rate. However, it won’t hurt to provide a little encouragement.”

 

*

 

_I can’t believe I’m about to share a bed with him._

_Share a bed._

_With him!_

Eventually, having splashed her face with cold water, Iku creeps into the darkened guest bedroom, hoping to find her Instructor already sound asleep, hence avoiding any awkwardness. That _was_ the whole point of hiding in the bathroom for half an hour, after all.

Unfortunately, once she allows her eyes to adjust… he doesn’t seem to be there at all. In the soft light of the hallway she can see that the bed is empty, still made.

_Gah… thwarted!_

“Instructor Dojo?” She whispers, aware of the others asleep in the adjacent room. “Where are you?”

Only silence replies. Would he defy Inamine’s orders? Iku curses inwardly, thinking of the couch, of the MBC waiting outside, and sneaks back into the hallway. Dojo can get himself into trouble just as easily as she can, really. She obviously isn’t going to be able to sleep until she’s tracked down the wayward Instructor.

Eventually Iku finds him, standing barefoot in the semi-darkness of the kitchen. He’s attractive even in a t-shirt and shorts, leaning against the wall in order to stare at the moon through a crack in the blinds. It’s almost disappointingly simple—he was probably trying to wait for her to fall asleep first, hence avoiding any awkwardness. Right.

She turns silently to tiptoe back to the bedroom, but not before catching a muted whisper from across the room.

“What are you doing?”

Crap. Iku halts, turns sheepishly, barely resisting the nervous instinct to snap to attention with a salute. _Avoiding you_ , her traitorous mouth wants to say.

“You shouldn’t be near the windows,” she whispers instead.

Dojo glares at her. The stripe of moonlight casts awkward shadows across his face, highlighting the bags under his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be creeping around Advisor Inamine’s house in the dark. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I’m not tired yet,” Iku begins to say, but is interrupted by her own traitorous yawn.

“Don’t lie to me, Kasahara.”

“I wasn’t—I, I just—”

“I get it, okay? I don’t want to do this any more than you do.” Dojo folds his arms defensively, glaring aside.

Iku scoffs, indignant. “Well actually, I was just… I was on the phone to Shibazaki, if you must know! Not hiding like some… coward.”

“Coward?! You watch your mouth!”

“I mean, really! Is it really that awful, the thought of being within two feet of me, Instructor?”

Dojo heaves a sigh and finally pushes away from the window, padding quietly towards her as though to prove her wrong right then and there.

“That’s not what it’s about, Kasahara.”

“Then what?” It’s so difficult to keep her voice down. Iku turns her gaze away so as to not have to look at the way the half-light highlights his firm, strong shoulders; the way it softens his hair; the way his eyes glitter.

“Do you not trust me, or something?” She asks over his head. “Is that it, Instructor?”

For a moment there's no response. Only the sound of his breathing, perhaps a little quick, and the steady dripping of the tap that marks the passage of the night.

“It’s not...” Dojo begins slowly, a murmur, another half-step closer. He sighs. “You idiot. It’s not _you_ that I don’t trust.”

“What?” Confusion makes her meet his eyes. Immediately she wishes she hadn’t: his usually unreadable gaze, this close, unguarded, seems to hold all the secrets of the universe.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

They practically breathe the same breath, now. Dojo’s face is tilted upwards at exactly the right angle. The urge to brush her fingertips against his smooth jaw is almost unbearable, the need to lean in almost too much, and suddenly Iku thinks she understands.

How could she trust herself to stay away from him?

_What if I don’t want to stay away?_

“I’m… still not sure I understand, Instructor.” If she weren’t whispering, her voice would tremble.

Dojo breaks their gaze and shakes his head as if to rid it of something troublesome, folding his arms between them, jaw clenched.

“Of course you don’t,” he huffs. “I’d be a fool for expecting you to.”

“Well perhaps I’d understand if you wouldn’t keep talking in riddles!”

Dojo’s face twists, lip curling, and he reaches out and seizes her by the wrist, steering her towards the bedroom.

“Enough. Let’s go.”

She stumbles into the room and he shuts the door behind them. The bedroom is much darker, and it seems somehow safer there, unable to see Dojo’s unexpectedly earnest face. There’s a conversation hovering between them, a silence built of words unsaid, and yet still she can't bring herself to speak her mind.

“Have you ever shared a bed with a man, Kasahara?” Dojo asks it lightly, as though hoping to avoid offense just by tone of voice, but still Iku splutters.

“That’s none of your business!”

“It’s about to become my business,” he points out, fairly. She can still hear him moving around, but he never seems to get anywhere; perhaps he’s pacing, as restless as her.

Iku huffs, folding her arms. “If you have to know… I spent the last several years too obsessed with a man I met once to spend much time focusing on boys.”

“Ah.” Dojo hesitates, but when he speaks again there’s a smirk in the sentence. “So, this faultless _prince_ of yours is to blame for ruining your love life?”

“Yeah, well, he’s not the only man I know who has a tendency to ruin things!” Iku snaps, glad he can’t see her flush. She pulls back the covers on the nearside of the bed and perches tentatively, hands curling over the edge of the mattress, but doesn’t swing her legs up just yet. “Anyway, now it’s your turn to answer the question.”

“No, Kasahara, I haven’t shared a bed with a man.”

She can’t help but snort, her own embarrassment pushed aside in favour of potential juicy gossip. “Whatever. Don't play dumb, you knew what I meant. Since you’re so cocky about my lack of experience, I assume you have plenty of your own.”

The pause that eventually stretches into a silence speaks for itself.

“Instructor…” Iku whispers, when enough time has passed that it’s clear he isn't going to answer. _Impossible_. He’s twenty-six. Perhaps he wouldn’t win many awards for his looks, but isn’t he a strong, intelligent, dependable man?

“Shut up,” he mutters. “And go to sleep.”

He’s embarrassed. Iku turns, swings her legs up onto the bed and pulls them defensively to her chest. Instructor Dojo is… Instructor Dojo has never… _No, Iku! Stop thinking about that!_ The scandalous thoughts send a frisson down her spine.

“It’s okay, you know,” she says quickly.

“I said shut up, idiot!”

Iku deflates in silence. She says nothing as the other side of the bed eventually sinks beneath his weight, tilting her towards him until their shoulders touch briefly. Iku flinches away, preparing to be reprimanded, but it never comes. He simply lies down, facing away from her.

“If you—if you _must_ know, there is absolutely nothing wrong with—with waiting for somebody special,” Dojo whispers fiercely, after what feels like an age.

“So… you're still waiting?”

“My God, you're so unbelievably nosy!”

“Ah—I'm sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to—”

“Whatever! For the last time, Kasahara, lie down and _be quiet_!”

Iku, chastised, scrambles to lie down, her back turned to Dojo so that he won’t feel the heat radiating off her face in waves. This is far too much. Sharing a bed with Instructor Dojo?! She's never going to be able to relax like this, let alone actually fall asleep!

Although… part of her doesn't want to. Iku can feel the warmth of him behind her, can smell him, can hear his regular breathing slowing as he drifts off. She’s never been so close to someone; she shivers with glee. It’s no good. She really has got it bad.

Her watch on the nightstand ticks the night onward, and eventually her fluttering heart starts to relax. Instructor Dojo begins to make small, soft sleep sounds, not quite a snore, and it's so cute Iku has to roll over to face him. Now that her eyes have adjusted, she can see his outline, a shoulder slowly rising and falling, his hair spilling darkly across his pillow. Her heart swells.

_Instructor…_

 

_Instructor…_

 

*

 

Instructor Dojo wakes with a jolt, confused by the darkness; even more so by the sensation of a warm weight half on top of him. Then he remembers.

_Kasahara?!_

“Hey,” he whispers, awkward. He's on his back, and somehow she's managed to get her head under his chin, one of her hands fisted into his t-shirt and a leg slung over one of his own. He swallows, heat creeping inevitably up his neck into his face. Oh God.

His mortification is interrupted by a sniffle, a whimper, and instinctively his right hand finds her back and soothes it. Shit. So this is what woke him.

“H-hey. Hey, shh. It's alright.”

She shivers. Is that good, or bad? _Why this? Why now?_

His collar is becoming damp with what he assumes are tears. “Listen, it’s alright. You're safe, I promise. I’m here. I've got you.”

“Ngh… Instructor…”

Dojo's heart stops; he freezes. Waits with a grimace for the inevitable freak-out when she realises where they are, the way they’re tangled in each other’s arms like lovers. The inevitable freak-out… that… never happens?

Kasahara simply sighs contentedly and nestles closer, apparently still asleep. Tentatively, Dojo resumes breathing, his free hand covering his eyes.

_What the hell am I doing?_

She seems calmer now, at least, so he must have done something right. Her breathing has evened out, her fist unclenched. He'd like to extract himself so he can curl up and die of embarrassment, but he daren't wake her now.

Looks like he'll just have to try and sleep like this: her breath warm on his neck, her hand over his heart, the sweet smell of her soap enveloping him… hell, he’d be lying to himself if he said he hasn’t wanted this. He both curses and blesses the MBC in equal measure for bringing her into his arms. He’s closer to Kasahara than he should be; closer than he’s ever dared to dream he could be.

She surrounds him.

 

*

 

When he next wakes, sunrise is beginning to peek around the curtains.

They've shifted again in the night. He's on his side, with one arm under her head and the other over her waist, her back against his chest, their legs tangled. It's funny—he'd always imagined Kasahara with her unnatural height to be the big spoon—

Not that he makes a habit of it. Imagining Kasahara in his bed, that is.

It wouldn't compare to the real thing anyway, his nose buried in her soft hair, their fingers twined lazily together. Her rhythmic breathing lulls him softly back towards sleep… but he mustn’t. It’s vital that he prises himself away before she wakes—no one but he can ever know about this. It wouldn’t do to have his team drawing any untoward conclusions.

Slowly, gently, he disentangles his fingers from Kasahara’s, lifting his arm from around her waist, twisting to lie on his back.

That’s when he sees it.

The door is open. The door is _open_. And in the gap between door and frame is Komaki’s face, beaming, innocent. And below Komaki’s face is his camera phone.

“KOMAKI!” Dojo positively roars, launching from the bed and stumbling to the doorway—or he would have, had his foot not got twisted in the covers and sent him sprawling to the floor with a bang. Behind him, Kasahara jolts awake with a yelp, bewildered—the door closes swiftly, but Komaki can be heard laughing beyond it.

It’s a lost cause. He can’t crawl into Advisor Inamine’s hallway in his underwear any more than he can sit up and face Kasahara with his face burning. So he stays where he is, face to the tatami. Defeated.

“I-Instructor? Are you okay?”

“Komaki was in the doorway,” he admits with a groan. “Taking photos.”

“What?!” she splutters.

Dojo drags his leg free and sits up, elbows on his knees, forehead in his hands. “Kasahara, do me a favour, will you? Find Komaki, and give him hell until he deletes those pictures!”

Before he’s even finished the sentence she’s on her feet, slinging a spare dressing gown around her shoulders and sprinting barefoot into the hallway, presumably to launch a Kasahara-scale attack on Komaki until he removes all evidence of their… of what happened. At least he can count on that, if nothing else.

Right?

 

*

 

Several rooms away, less than a minute later, Kasahara tracks the wayward Komaki down like a hunting dog scents its prey.

She says, “Komaki,” with deathly solemnity, and, in her defence, she briefly considers Dojo’s instruction to make him delete them. And then she all but yells: “You have to show me those photos!”

Komaki grins like a Cheshire cat.

On the other side of the house, an Advisor chuckles to himself, and an Instructor _shudders_.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Comments are welcome (but please be gentle with me)


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